


Then there was a silence you took to mean something--

by kaktos



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, overuse of dramatic pauses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaktos/pseuds/kaktos
Summary: First, she’ll make him apologize. It’s the most reasonable starting point—after all, he left her so suddenly and nearly so permanently. Secondly, and perhaps most painfully, she will tell him the truth about her own past.Or: two guilt-ridden ex-criminals attempt to reconcile with their present situation.





	Then there was a silence you took to mean something--

**Author's Note:**

> my notes for this say "50s romance movie dramatic scene/kiss" and while i don't think i delivered on that, it still served as an inspiration. (also, those notes were dated august, 2017, so........i really took my sweet time, huh)

She kisses him in front of everyone and it’s the stupidest, most thrilling moment of her life. (Aside from fighting that dragon in Crestwood, of course.)

Afterwards, they avoid each other. There’s too much to talk about—where would they even start? They tiptoe around each other for weeks. Skyhold has never felt so small. She’s angry and hurt and confused; she begins to believe that she’ll never speak to him again. Truthfully, she misses him, but for weeks her rage outweighs all other emotions and she can’t even begin to imagine meeting with him one-on-one. It’s only once Iron Bull, obnoxiously observant as always, mentions her own questionable past that she realizes what she needs to do.

First, she’ll make him apologize. It’s the most reasonable starting point—after all, he left her so suddenly and nearly so permanently. If Leliana didn’t excel in her position as spymaster, she may never have gotten the chance to see Blackwall again. (Though she supposes that’s what has happened anyway; she will never see Blackwall again, only Rainier.)

Secondly, and perhaps most painfully, she will tell him the truth. About her own past. About her family. About the men and women she’s killed.

The day she decides to confront him is fittingly dark and rainy, just like the day he—

“Hello,” she greets, swallowing back the memory of watching him ascend those stairs in Val Royeaux. He stands before her in the stables, surrounded by hay and the stench of horses. For a moment she can almost believe she’s only imagining him, his skin shines wet with rain and he stands so still that he resembles a painting. But he is real, the man who betrayed her.

“Hello, my lady.”

Once a name she took in jest, it now sounds like a shield, something to distance the two of them. She supposes her own greeting must have sounded much like a dagger to him.

“I’ve come to speak with you,” she pauses and attempts to stand straighter, “about our relationship.”

She wants to cringe at her own words. They sounded too blunt. There is a long silent moment before Blackwall responds.

“Yes, it would be about time for that.”

His voice is so gruff and so _him_ and Maker, they’re exactly where they were the first time—the only time—that last time—but then this was where he had left her as well, wasn’t it? And certainly that put a damper on the memory.

“Blackwall—I mean Rainier. Which would you rather be called?”

He takes a deep breath and she watches his chest move with it. “I’ve gotten used to Blackwall. Maybe we should consider it a title, like Inquisitor. Gives me something to aspire to.”

“Will you spend the rest of your life repenting?” She doesn’t need to hear his answer, she knows what he will say. It feels right to ask anyway.  
Blackwall frowns deeply, the long lines of his face following suit. He says what she expects.

“You should start with an apology. Now that we are alone. That last time…” She has no reason to finish the sentence, he knows exactly what she means.

His shoulders slump with the sigh he gives. He doesn’t approach her and the gap between them makes this worse.

“Cadash,” and _oh, that hurts_ , “please allow me to give you my sincerest apologies. What I did—what I did to you is unforgivable.”

“I wouldn’t say unforgivable.”

“No? Not after I left you here without a word of my intentions? To say nothing of the fact I brought you here to this damned barn to begin with.” His voice had gotten rougher, indicating his anger at himself, his own self-hatred.

Cadash fights against the small smile that threatened to appear. “I quite enjoyed that part actually. It was the part after that I need an apology for.”

“My lady—”

“And you’ve apologized plenty now, I believe. Now, I have another request.”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind coming to my quarters tonight?”

It’s awfully forward of her, but she knows if she does not invite him now she will only dance around the subject for the rest of their lives. His frown lessens considerably. He looks nicer this way, he has a rosy glow to his cheeks noticeable against his pale wet skin.

“Yes. I shall, uh, I shall be there tonight.”

She smiles brightly before excusing herself.

Reasonably he must believe that her invitation is for sex. It isn’t her intention. Her intention is to show him that she, too, is repenting and aspiring and hoping for forgiveness. Her intention is to show him that they are a single coin. Then—well, whatever happens next may not be her intention, but it isn’t undesirable.

* * *

The sun has long set by the time she manages to shirk the rest of her duties. Did no one in this damned castle sleep? In a fit of self-doubt, she begins to fidget with her appearance. Should she change her clothes to something less formal? Should she let her hair down?

She undoes the tight bun of her hair and runs her fingers through it, mentally rifling through her available wardrobe—almost everything is beige, which is about the least flattering color she can imagine. Perhaps that would work in her favor, though, maybe it would help her stay focused on the task on hand. While she considers the advantages of choosing something so bland, someone knocks on her door, startling her out of her reverie.

“Yes? Come in,” she calls out, quickly turning towards the door and doing her best to smile sweetly.

Only it isn’t Blackwall that opens the door. Leliana steps through, her own smile far too knowing. “Hello, Inquisitor.”

“Oh—” Cadash takes a step back without thinking. “You caught me off guard.”

“Are you expecting someone?”

There’s no use in lying, she most definitely already knows who Cadash mistook her for. The least she can do is attempt to be tactical. “I invited Blackwall to discuss the matter of his presence here.”

Leliana purses her lips. “Then I believe it would be best for me to remain close by.”

“No!” Well, there goes all her tactical wit. “I mean—please, I trust him well enough to believe that he will not make a threat on my life. We should give him the dignity of a private discussion.”

Leliana nods, but does not move from her stance in front of the door. The two women stand silently for too long a moment, just watching one another. Finally, Leiliana speaks, “Inquisitor, remember to judge not only on intention, but the outcome of an action as well. It is easy to be led astray.”

Cadash does not manage to reply before Leliana exits.

* * *

Leliana is half way out of the corridor leading to the Inquisitor’s quarters when Blackwall enters the corridor. She startles him.

“What—” he attempts to stutter through a question but stops when she grins at him.

“I apologize, I did not mean to scare you, Rainier. The Inquisitor and I had business to speak of. I assume she needs to speak to you as well about next week’s trip to Emprise du Lion?” Her accompanying smirk does not ease Blackwall in the slightest and the use of his true name cuts cold.

“Ah, yes,” he lies, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.

Leliana hums in response and continues out of the corridor. Maker—he’s never feared anything half as much as the Inquisition’s spymaster. He had already been in a state of anxiety before making his way to Cadash’s room, but the run in with Leliana left him nearly shaking. _Best to keep moving_ , he thinks and continues his way to the door, knocking gently.

This time Cadash throws the door open herself. Her hair is down, cascading over one shoulder, so unlike her usual stiff updo that allows her to engage in combat. He supposes it’s a good sign—and anyway, she’s beautiful like this (he’s so rarely seen her unguarded).

“Blackwall,” she greets. “Please come in.”

He moves past her and into her room. She’s lit a fire and it warms the whole room, casting an orange glow. The thunk of the door locking behind him catches his attention.

“My lady,” he says a little too breathily. He steps towards her, but is frozen by her call to wait.

“I have a confession.” It’s so quiet in the room that he can hear her swallow. “That is, I have something important that I never told you. Something that weighs me down, something I think of constantly.”

“I am familiar with the feeling.”

She lets out a brief, sharp laugh. “Yes, well, it is similar in nature. Please allow me to tell you.”

“My permission is not necessary.”

“It is,” she rebukes. Then she gestures to her bed, “take a seat.”

Blackwall moves sluggishly, a strong mix of anxiety and guilt coursing through him. He settles at the very edge of the bed facing Cadash, touching as little of the bed as he possibly can. It feels wrong to touch it—she wishes for him to feel more relaxed, but he feels worse instead.

She takes a deep breath before she begins her confession. “The truth is that I was only at the conclave as a spy. I am—I was a member of the Carta. I smuggled lyrium. I have lied and cheated and stolen and I have killed. All without a purpose greater than greed.”

The admission has her eyes stinging, nearly watering but she takes another deep breath. She does not fear appearing weak in front of this man, but she would prefer not to cry before she has said all she has to say.

“And everyone here—even you—even you think I am a hero, but I am no different than you. I have done just as bad,” she continues. Blackwall blinks at her, but says nothing. “I killed, too! Good people, bad people, all the same.”

“But have you killed a child?” He digs his fists into the sheets beneath him and looks at the far corner of the room, as far from the woman in front of him as possible.

“Oh, what’s the difference! I may never have taken their life, not physically, but I affected them irreversibly…I took a child’s life from them all the same.”

He doesn’t reply, continues to stare at the wall. She wants to scream, wants to cry. Mostly she wants Blackwall to look at her.

“Look at me,” she pleads, her voice finally cracking. When she planned to tell him the truth, she underestimated the emotional toll it would take on her.

He darts his eyes towards her, quickly looking away again.

“Thom,” she begs quietly. That gets his attention. He stares at her, the space between them feeling tense and thick. Suddenly, he stands and walks to her. “Don’t you see, you and me…”

He takes her face in his hands, just holding her in front of him. Her breath hitches.

“We are not the same,” he grumbles.

“We are,” she insists. “We are just the same. And I have been given a second chance. You have been given a second chance. If you are not worthy, then neither am I.”

They stand so close to each other, his hand on her jaw, and she wants to kiss him with a desperation that embarrasses her. But he doesn’t lean forward. He just watches her, looks her in the eyes like he was unable to do before.

“I do not believe I have apologized enough yet to you for my behavior,” he finally speaks. Cadash manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Well, there are other ways of apologizing, you know? Other than words, I mean.” She watches the shock appear on his face, looking up at him. Just as she is about to awkwardly elaborate, he finally leans forward.

The kiss is not unlike the kisses they shared before the incident. They are just as tender, just as thorough. He cups her face with one hand and moves the other to her waist and yes—yes, this is what she meant by an apology, only there is more to it than just a kiss and he understands. She knows that this time she will wake to find him still beside her.

And there is more to speak about—there might always be, but for now her needs and wants are very simple. Tomorrow, maybe, or the year afterwards, or whenever this war allows, they will talk about everything. They will discuss that impossible future, will discuss the appropriate amount of the past—but Maker, for now that is far from either of their minds.


End file.
